Well, it took me a long while to find a title for this new blog. Something that personifies me and my experiences (blogs are, after all, the best way to indulge yourself). Then, since I've developed this craze for magazines - I can't seem to follow long thoughts from books because of many needy children and sleep deprivation - I ran across this month's Woman's Day. I read a great little article by Paula Spencer and found my new title: Mother of All Muddlers. This fits me perfectly; never really 'in balance', trying the best I can with lack luster skills. But a lot of heart and fortitude, by golly!
I'm afraid my lack of expertise, planning or equipment is getting the best of me. I'm ready to star in my very first Visa commercial:
Leaking gasket in car? $800.
Co pays for the next round of Croup? $60
Compressor dying in refrigerator? $251.
Treatment for recurrent ear infection in dog? $179
Moving to Mexico and Changing Your Name to Side Step Life's Responsibilities? Priceless
Yes, my round of luck has not stopped. We fixed the car. Then, the eight year old got sick. By the time I had called to get him an appointment, saddled up the Suburban with an 8 week old and a 2 year old, pulled the Kindergarterner out of school early and arrived at the doctor's office, the sick kid couldn't walk, he was so tired from trying to get air.
Kindergartner held 2 year old's hand, I pushed 8 year old in stroller with car seat full of baby dangling from my right forearm. After 15 mintues, 8 year old starts to writhe around mouthing he can not breathe, so I rush to the appointment desk and yell that we have to see the doctor immediately. A rush of nurses comes to our aid and helps wheel him back as I am throwing sweaters and car seats on the floor in an attempt to get to the examining room quicker. I wish I could apologize to the new mommy sitting next to us, this was not something she was interested in experiencing, I'm sure. All the while I'm nursing a baby. Amazing what I can master with one hand, and without flashing anyone.
In the exam room, one nurse grabs the baby, the other non-sick kids sit quietly, in shock in the corner, and two nurses, the doctor and I wrestle 8 year old with first oxygen, a breathing treatment (which makes him vomit everywhere) and then a steroid injection. After the doctor tells me he has an ambulance at the ready in case none of this works, I call hubby on the phone and tell him to get on home; this is more than I can handle. (Imagine that)
8 year old is stabilized. Hubby gets to us by the time we arelocked and loaded back in the Suburban. He fills the perscription for oral steroids and a humidifier and I go home to lay down and try and relax. Ha.
Next day, fridge starts to make wierd noises. Call Sears and hubby buys ice. Friday we find that yes, the compressor is shot. Can't get it fixed until WEDNESDAY. I can't have this, so I call in the big guns - hubby. The man who can negoitiate a claim order like no one else. The man who talked us into the VIP section at the Sting concert at the Pyramids in Egypt. He gets Sears to promise to come on Monday. My goal this weekend? Not to poison my family. Quite lofty, I think.
Thursday and Friday nights were spent listening to the dog howl and shake his head because of his ear. Took him in Saturday (the soonest I could find time in the schedule) for sedation, a cortisone shot, antibiotics and ear drops. How do wild dogs survive? Do they have 'allergies' too? Ridiculous.
Hubby is now telling me gently that maybe God IS trying to tell me something. Maybe I should stop trying to control everything and let life happen. I sit and actually listen in Church today and I gather the same type of message out of the readings. We are in charge of nothing. We are in fact, insignificant. But it's a hard lesson.
I'm a paranoid freak now. I took the Suburban to work on Friday morning and ran over a patch of crumbly road. I thought it felt weird and stopped the car to check the tires for a flat. No flat thank goodness.
I started to wash a load of clothes and called hubby into listen to the washing machine, I was certain it sounded 'off'. It's okay.
I'm also delusional. I've been running three times now since, oh, eight months ago. Or I thought I was running. Can you still be running if your dog is walking right next to you? He does have four legs after all.
So, maybe I should sit up and take notice now that it's Lent. Maybe I should be listening to what's important and try to be a better, outward thinking person instead of being grateful that I am nursing and have a 'get out of fasting free' card. (pathetic, aren't I? I could never be a Muslim for that very thing.)
Being crazy Catholics, we've given up dessert after dinner, a hugely difficult task for all of us. The kids were saved by their favorite 'Uncle' who brought over ice cream just two days into our 'fasting.'
Oh well, life is at it is, I guess. It'll be another tough week; even the baby has caught this bout of cold viruses.
The boys are all starting baseball this week as well, I think I've counted seven practices and/or games I have to remember to get to on time each week.